History Has Its Eyes on You, but So Does Your Stalker
by DinerGuy
Summary: There have been three deaths in Santa Barbara in a matter of twenty-four hours. What do the men all have in common? They all tried out for the same off-off-off-Broadway show. Now it's up to Shawn and Gus to stop the murderer so the biggest show of the year can open on schedule.


_A/N:_ _Written as a birthday gift for an awesome friend!_

 _I know the timing doesn't quite work because "The Break Up" aired in 2014 and_ Hamilton _premiered in 2015. However, I like how it works with the whole Psych team still in Santa Barbara, so I'm fudging timelines a little bit._

 _Standard disclaimers apply. Also unbetaed, so there's that._

 _(I also really hope Lin doesn't hate me for this.)_

* * *

"And I ain't gonna stop until I chop it up and eat the pineapple rings! Hey!"

Gus looked physically pained as he glanced over at his friend in the passenger seat. "Shawn, that's not how it goes, and you know it."

"I've heard it both ways," Shawn shrugged in response as he popped another pineapple chunk in his mouth. "Besides," he said around the fruit, "if I yell it really fast, no one can tell. You're like, the only person who knows the lyrics by heart anyway."

"Shawn, I guarantee you plenty of people know those lyrics besides just me." Gus sniffed.

"Okay, so you and Lin Manuel Miranda."

"Shawn—"

"Hey!" Shawn noticed something out the car window. "Buddy, look! Crime scene!"

Gus had braked quickly when Shawn had first yelled, and now he peered around his friend to look out the side window as well. They could see several cop cars in the driveway of a small brick house, and there was crime scene tape around the edges of the yard.

"Let's go find out what's up!" Shawn unbuckled his seatbelt, deposited his half-empty container of fruit in the cupholder, and threw open the door. "Meet me inside!"

"But, Shawn, we weren't…" Gus trailed off as he watched his friend jump up onto the sidewalk. Sighing, he eased the little blue car up next to the curb, right behind a vehicle he immediately recognized as Lassiter's unit. Gus swallowed. They hadn't been called out for this case yet, so he was about ninety-nine percent positive that the head detective would not be pleased with the friends' sudden appearance.

The young officer—Abigail Nolan, Gus remembered—standing guard near the crime scene tape waved at Gus as he hurried up the walk in the direction Shawn had just disappeared. "Hey, Gus!" she greeted. "How are you?"

"Good, thanks," Gus smiled back. He'd tried to hit on her a few times, but she'd immediately rebuffed him, so he didn't even try now. He ducked under the tape and glanced around to see the back gate open, as well as the front door. "Did, uh, Shawn go inside? Or around back?" he asked her.

"Inside." She tilted her head to indicate the green door hanging ajar. "Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara are here, too."

Gus swallowed again. "Great. Thanks." He took a deep breath and then headed to join his friend. Sure enough, he wasn't even inside the house yet when Lassiter's voice bellowed out into the mid-morning air.

"Spencer, for the love of sweet justice! Who called you?"

"Nobody had to call me, Lassie," Shawn was replying as Gus stepped through the doorway. "The spirits told me very strongly that you needed my help, so here I am."

There was the distinct odor of a dead body in the room, and Gus steeled himself as he glanced around. It thankfully wasn't too strong of a smell, which told him that the poor guy couldn't have been gone for very long at this point. Maybe just since early that morning. The man, who had dark, tan skin and black hair, looked to be in his late twenties, was lying on his side just inside the foyer. It appeared as if he'd answered the door and then been killed by whoever had rung the doorbell. Gus was fairly certain that was the case here. The man was barefoot and wearing a black t-shirt and plaid pajama shorts, and a broken cup lay nearby with dried coffee spilled underneath it. A puddle of blood had leaked under his back, pairing with the bullet hole in his chest.

Just then, Juliet came around the corner, drawing Gus's attention away from the murder scene. "Shawn!" the junior detective smiled. "What are you doing here?"

"Helping!"

"No, you're not," Lassiter snapped.

"Lassie, don't be the Adams administration." Shawn made a face. "I want to be in the room where it happens."

"O'Hara, tell your boyfriend we don't need his help. There's enough to deal with today with the other two bodies we've found. I already have one nut to track down; I don't need a second one fouling things up for me."

Squinting in thought, Shawn looked between the two detectives. "I'm sensing there's more going on here than just a poor dude getting his morning coffee interrupted," he said.

"You don't say," Lassiter grunted, crossing his arms. "Look, if we need your services, we'll call you, okay? Until then, stay out of my way."

Shawn stuck out his lower lip and glanced over at Juliet. "Come on, Jules. You can't say no to this!"

Juliet smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Shawn, but this is a secure crime scene. If the chief hasn't hired you yet, you can't be in here."

"But—"

"Out, Spencer!"

Shawn sighed. "Okay, okay. We're going."

Not having to be told twice, Gus was out the door and halfway to the car before he heard hurried footsteps behind him.

"Wait up, Gus!" Shawn jogged up next to his friend. "Where are you going so fast?"

"Back to work, Shawn. At my _real_ job." Gus nodded and smiled at Officer Nolan as he crossed under the crime scene tape again. "I don't have time for investigating things if I'm not going to get paid."

Shawn didn't look impressed. "But Gus," he wheedled, "I know him! I saw him just yesterday!"

"What?" Gus paused with his hand on the driver's door handle. "You know him?"

"Well, sort of," Shawn shrugged.

"'Sort of'?"

Nodding, Shawn looked at Gus across the top of the car. "Remember when we were going try out that new jerky place?"

Gus's mouth watered at the memory. "Yes, and?" he prompted.

"We drove past that stage theater on the way, remember? And this guy was just going inside!" Shawn grinned, pleased with himself. "They were doing callbacks for that big new show. Alexander Ham Sandwich or whatever."

"Alexander Hamilton," Gus corrected. "But you're right! They're getting ready to start rehearsals for _Hamilton_ soon," he said. "Auditions were last week, and they just finished the callbacks yesterday. It's probably going to be the biggest show Santa Broadway has seen in years, since their production of _Les Miserables_ in 2008."

Shawn frowned. "Mizzah-what now? I'm pretty sure you just made that word up."

"No, I didn't, Shawn," Gus rolled his eyes.

"Oh isn't that the movie Wolverine did?" Shawn remembered excitedly.

 _"Anyway,"_ Gus said pointedly, glaring at Shawn now, "I was about to say, I heard it took a ton of finagling to get the contract to put on this play, but the owner's an old friend of one of the original cast and so he managed to get permission somehow." Pulling his door open, he climbed inside the car.

Following suit, Shawn retrieved his pineapple from the center console where he'd left it a few minutes before. "We should go talk to the director at the theater," he announced. "He might be able to tell us if that guy was acting weird or anything."

There was only one problem with that. "We're not on the case, Shawn," Gus reminded him.

"Well, that doesn't mean we can't get a head-start," Shawn replied simply. "This way, when Lassie does finally call us for help, I can be, like, six-fourths of the way to having a revolution and cracking this thing wide open."

"Revelation."

"Yeah that," Shawn nodded.

Gus sighed and started the car. He did have work to do, but the idea of checking out the theater intrigued him. Besides, he'd been waiting for a particular call since the day before… and what better way to follow up than to go there in person?

It didn't take long for them to arrive at the theater, but when they finally did, it was surprisingly quiet. They parked in an empty front lot and went inside, looking around for anyone who might work at the theater.

"Where is everybody?" Shawn wanted to know, his voice echoing in the empty room.

Gus glanced around as well. "I don't know. But all of the auditions are over and rehearsals haven't started yet, so I don't know if anyone's even here." He tilted his head to indicate a door in the far wall. "The director's office is back here."

"What?" Shawn followed behind Gus as his friend started across the room. "Gus, how do you even know that?"

Pushing the door open, Gus just shrugged a shoulder in response to Shawn's question. "I've been here before. And don't laugh!" he added. "You know very well my love for the theater."

They walked into a small room, packed full of random odds and ends that seemed to have come from a number of different productions. There was a fold-up director's chair near a table piled with various papers, where a laptop sat open top of a pile of folders.

A shorter, balding man was just coming through a side door when Shawn and Gus entered. "Hi," he said, quickly taking in both of them. "How can I help you?"

"Are you the director?" Shawn wanted to know.

The man nodded in response. "Yes, I'm Stanley Washington."

"Your name is Washington?" Shawn asked, surprised. "And you're directing a play about Hamilton?"

The director sighed. "Yeah, I know. I've heard all the jokes already."

"Oh, well—ow!" Shawn darted a dirty look at Gus, then shrugged a shoulder and waved a hand in greeting. "Well, I'm Shawn Spencer," he introduced himself, "and this is my right-hand man, Aaron Burr, sir. We need to ask you a few questions."

"What…?" The director made a face. "I thought your name was Burton Guster?"

"It is," Gus acknowledged, glaring at Shawn.

Washington smiled. "I thought so," he said with a nod. "I was going to call you this afternoon, as a matter of fact."

Shawn blinked as he took in his friend's sudden change in posture. "Gus!" he exclaimed. "You didn't tell me you'd auditioned!"

In response, his friend nodded. "Yes; as a matter of fact, I did, Shawn."

"But remember what happened with the Jamaican Inspector Man Debacle of 2013?" Shawn reminded Gus.

Thumbing his nose, Gus sniffed. "I am not throwing away my shot, Shawn. This is different. I already know all the lyrics by heart. Besides," he added, "I thought it was high time a brother finally got to be the king of England."

"Dude," Shawn snickered, "you tried out for King George?"

Gus wrinkled his brow and gave Shawn a side-eye glare. "Shut up, Shawn."

"Well… I'm sorry, Mr. Guster; I hope you're not too upset… but I did go with a different candidate for the role," Washington rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "But I _was_ very impressed with your audition. Perhaps you would consider being the primary understudy?"

After a brief pause, Gus squared his shoulders and nodded. "I'd love to. Thank you."

"Oh good." Washington visibly relaxed. "Thank you! I'm excited to see what you can bring to our cast!"

"So, uh, how is everything going for the production?" Gus asked, awkwardly transitioning the conversation.

"Any issues?" Shawn prompted.

The director shook his head. "I've been working non-stop lately, but it's paying off," he said happily. "Most of the props have been made or some avenue secured to obtain them. The Reynolds Pamphlet, guns and ships… they're all in place. And the costumes are getting taken care of, too." He smiled. "My wife is heading up the seamstresses. She really is the best of wives and best of women." Then his face fell. "But my cast!" he exclaimed, wringing his hands nervously. "I mean, I have my farmer refuted, and I've cast King George, the Schuyler sisters, and the rest of the main cast except… Alexander Hamilton is proving to be much harder to choose than I thought. And then I narrowed it down to three but none of them showed up for the final round of callbacks, and all my calls go to voicemail."

Shawn blinked at that. "Wait, three—"

The man looked close to panicking now as he interrupted Shawn. "I already had so much trouble find the perfect talent for this huge of a role," he lamented. "What am I going to do?"

"Did you say _three_ potential Hamiltons?" Shawn wanted to know.

Washington nodded. "Yes… why?"

Frowning, Shawn glanced back to the table piled high with papers. "Are these all the people who auditioned?" he asked, ignoring Washington's question for the moment.

"Yes," the man nodded again. Before he could speak further, a buzzer echoed through the room. "Oh, that must be my delivery. Excuse me a minute." And with that, he disappeared out the door.

As soon as he'd left, Shawn whirled to look at Gus. "Dude!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Dude! Those are all the names that were on Jules's desk this morning!"

Gus frowned. "What?"

"Jules had case files on her desk with two different guys' names," Shawn explained. He gestured at the top folders on Washington's desk. "And they had the same names as two of those!"

"So?" Gus prodded.

"So! Gus! Lassie said they had found two other bodies besides the guy at the house this morning! And if the Hamiltons are all missing in action…" He trailed off as the realization dawned on Gus.

"You don't think…" Gus swallowed.

And then the top of a photo sticking out of a third folder caught Shawn's eye. He reached over and tugged the rest of the picture out so he could see it. The moment it cleared the top of the sheets obscuring it, his eyes widened.

"Gus! It's what's-his-face!"

Gus had noticed as well, and he met Shawn's look of shock. "It's the murder victim from this morning!"

"Do you know what this means?" Shawn didn't wait for Gus to respond before continuing, "Our murderer is taking out people associated with the play!"

Frowning, Gus flicked his eyes to the door nervously. "Why would he do that?"

"Jealousy? For money? For the sake of his dear Theodosia? I don't know!" Shawn threw his hands up in the air. "But they're all in danger now!" Then he stopped and tilted his head, then made a face at Gus. "Good thing you _didn't_ land an actual role, huh?"

Gus just stared at him for a minute, then whirled on his heel. "I'm going check on Washington to make sure he's okay since there's an insane murderer on the loose."

"Good idea!" Shawn nodded. "I'll stay here and look through these files. Maybe I'll find a clue about who our bad guy is." He grabbed several files off the desktop and then hopped up in the director's chair and crossed one knee over the other. He'd barely gotten to the second paragraph of the first page before the side door flew open and a man rushed inside. Shawn glanced up and was just about to say something to the man when he noticed the gun clenched in his fist.

The man noticed Shawn about the same time and raised the weapon to bear with Shawn's face.

"Whoa, buddy!" Shawn yelped, shocked at the sudden turn of events. "Let's, uh, just all calm down, okay?"

Unfortunately, the new arrival did not seem to agree with the suggestion. "You the director?"

Shawn glanced at the back of the seat on which he was sitting, then chuckled nervously. "No, uh, you see, I was just keeping it warm for the _real_ director. He should be back any minute, you see, and—"

"You need to give me another chance!" the man exclaimed, waving his gun as if to underscore his point. "They don't deserve that role! None of those guys who the casting man called back deserve it! Their singing voices are nowhere near as good as mine!"

"And I have no reason to doubt that," Shawn replied nervously. "But, uh, I'm not the one who did the casting. That was a… Mr. Washington. Do you remember him?" He glanced toward the door, hoping to see Gus and the director, but no such luck.

"Hmph," the man snorted. "You know, it must be nice to have Washington on your side," he grumbled. "Get to let him tell you who you can and can't cast."

"I didn't—"

"I wanted that role!" the man suddenly yelled. "And you robbed me of it!"

Shawn raised both hands, dropping the files but not caring. "Okay, listen, Mr… uh… what's your name?"

"You don't know me?" the gunman was still yelling. "I only auditioned five times!"

Blinking, Shawn shook his head slowly. "No, sorry, you'll have to refresh my memory. I'm terrible with faces."

"Schuyler! Lee Schuyler!"

"Wait… really?" Shawn couldn't help laughing. "Dude, who'd have thought? A Washington _and_ a Schuyler!"

"You think this is funny?"

"Uh, no. Not at all," Shawn said seriously, shaking his head. Then a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Wait, you're upset because you got turned down for the role of Hamilton?" Shawn realized. "Dude, isn't this a bit harsh, taking revenge on the guys who did get callbacks?"

"No!" Schuyler yelled. "I want to be the one on that stage! The one telling the story of tonight!" His eyes were wild, and Shawn was starting to get the feeling that the man was more than a little insane.

Eyeing the gun in the man's hands, Shawn tried again, relaxing only slightly when he noticed it pointed near the floor. "So… what comes next?" Shawn asked, quirking an eyebrow.

No sooner had he asked the question than a gunshot rang out and the world turned upside down.

Or at least, Shawn's world did, and he crashed to the floor in a heap. He wriggled out from underneath the broken chair as his assailant pointed the gun directly at him.

Scrambling to his feet, Shawn now found himself helpless to do anything but watch as the man waved the gun around. He couldn't even dodge out of the way because there was nothing he could hide behind and the door was too far away to make it before this crazy man could fire off any more shots—ones that hit more than just a wooden chair leg. "Hang on! Hang on! Don't shoot!" he had both hands up again. "Let's talk this through, okay? Do you want me to go get Director Washington so we can all—"

"No!" Schuyler shook his head emphatically. "I don't like that guy. I remember him! He was at the judges' table while I was trying out for the role!" Schuyler spat. "He looked at me like I was stupid. I'm not stupid," he defended.

"I'm sure you're not," Shawn nodded slowly, trying to keep control of the situation while figuring out a way to escape with all of his extremities intact. Gus was just in the other room; all he had to do was stall long enough for his friend to come back and see what was happening and call the cops.

Schuyler didn't look impressed. If anything, he seemed much less than that. "Don't patronize me! I'm not your obedient servant; I can sing well! Much better than any of those three guys who got to the final round of callbacks!" he insisted.

"Hmm," Shawn hummed. "Right. And just like a hurricane, you'll blow us all away with your performance, right?" As soon as he'd made the joke, he realized that sarcasm probably wasn't the best tactic with this angry, clearly disturbed individual holding a gun on him.

Indeed, the man's face grew an interesting shade of reddish purple, and he clenched his fist around the grip of the weapon. "You conceited _jerk!"_ the man yelled. "All you're worried about is your precious play! You don't care whose feelings you hurt or whose life you destroy in the meantime! I hope that you burn!" The man took a step forward, his hand shaking as he lifted the pistol to aim at Shawn's face.

"Look, calm down just a minute. I'm just trying to stay alive here, okay?" Shawn said, gesturing with his hands out at either side. "Maybe we can just take a break and talk about this?"

That didn't seem to help the man calm down at all. If anything, it made him seethe even more. "I needed this money, man! It was a solid payday! Everyone knows this play's a sell-out success!"

Shawn tilted his head at that. "Hang on. I'm sensing something… Wait for it… Wait for it… Wait."

"What are you, psychic?" the other man scoffed.

"As a matter of fact, yes!" Shawn chirped. "And I'm getting this really strong reading off of you… you're broke, aren't you? And maybe a little bit in debt… or a lot bit," he corrected, noticing a twitch in the man's face. "This was going to be your big break to get out of it."

Nodding, the man lowered the gun slightly, but still kept it pointed at his hostage. "All I needed was one role! It didn't even have to be the lead, but I figured it was worth a shot. But the paycheck! That would be enough; I'd be satisfied with that!"

Shawn was watching the man's expression. There was something unhinged there that, although he'd never outright admit it to anyone, unnerved him slightly. Shawn wasn't going to be able to reason this guy out of his anger; at this point, his only hope was to just hold out long enough for someone to show up and help him get out of this predicament. "And so you just had to go take out the competition? Literally?"

Nodding, Schuyler swallowed. "And now I'm going to have to get you out of the way too! Nobody can stop me!"

But Shawn was still hung up on a thought from a moment before. "Wait, you shot the guy the minute he opened the door?" Shawn gasped. "Now that's not fair. Isn't that, like, against the Ten Duel Commandments or something?"

Schuyler just shrugged a shoulder. "Well, he should have known better than to try to take what was rightfully mine." Then he raised the gun again and pointed it right at Shawn's nose.

Even though the man's hand was shaking, Shawn was pretty sure there was no way he could miss at as close a range as where he was standing.

"I'll ask you one last time," the man barked. "Will you cast me as Hamilton or not?"

"Now… hold on. We know this is difficult…" Shawn trailed off, having finally—thankfully—noticed movement behind the other man, from the direction of the door leading to the rest of the theater.

A split second later, he dove for the floor as Buzz McNab burst through the door with his gun drawn.

"Put down your weapon!" Buzz ordered, his voice booming through the room. "Hands up! Now!"

Schuyler hesitated for just a moment, then he seemed to realize how serious the uniformed officer really was. He dropped his gun as he'd been told, and Buzz immediately rushed over and forced the man to the ground, pulling his arms behind him.

"Oh, Buzz! Am I glad to see you!" Shawn scrambled up from the floor.

The taller man glanced over to look Shawn up and down. "Are you okay, Shawn?" he asked.

"Yeah, fine," Shawn nodded. "Thanks."

Just then, there was a commotion outside the door, and then Gus rushed in. "Shawn, are you okay?" He glanced around quickly, then turned back to his friend. "What'd I miss?" he demanded. "Geez, Shawn; I step out for five minutes and you nearly die?"

"Gus, don't be the election of 1800," Shawn chided. "It's not like I asked the guy to show up and try to kill me because he thought I was the director."

Meanwhile, the real director was shaking his head slowly as Buzz pulled out his handcuffs. "I wish you could have seen the world was wide enough for all of you," he told Schuyler sadly. "Instead, now, who lives, who dies, who tells your story?"

Shawn made a face at Gus. "Uh, don't you think you're overreacting just a little?" he asked Washington.

That made the director pause, then he chuckled and shook his head. "Of course. I'm sorry. I just have so much invested in this production that I'm not quite myself lately." He sighed deeply, then, "You'll be back, of course," he said, turning back to Shawn and Gus. "At least, I hope you will. I'll make sure you both get tickets to opening night as thanks for what you did for me today."

"Can my girlfriend come too?" Shawn wanted to know.

The older man nodded. "Of course."

"Great!" Shawn exclaimed. He watched as Buzz pulled Schuyler, now cuffed, up from the floor, and frowned. "Hey, wait a second." Shawn's words stopped Buzz in his tracks. "How'd you get here so fast anyway? We didn't even call the cops yet."

At Shawn's words, Washington's face lit up. "Oh, right. I almost forgot! Thanks for coming, Mr. McNab." He extended his hand and shook Buzz's. "Let me be the first to congratulate you. You've been cast as our King George!"

Gus choked.

"Why thank you, sir!" Buzz grinned widely. "I'm honored! My wife is going to be so excited when I tell her!"

"Wait, Buzzby, you sing?" Shawn was both impressed and shocked. "I never would have guessed."

Nodding happily, Buzz looked over at Shawn. "Yeah! I mean, I haven't done much since I was in _Oklahoma_ back in high school, but I figured it was time to get back into the theater. I really enjoy it. And then I saw the auditions for this were open and figured it couldn't hurt to try out!"

"What?" Gus managed, having finally gotten his voice back somewhere in the middle of Buzz's explanation. "I lost to Buzz McNab?"

"I'm sorry, Gus," Buzz said genuinely. "But that's show biz, right?"

"Right," Shawn smirked.

"I knew I should have gone out for Burr," Gus grumbled.

"Now, Gus, don't be the first of the two cabinet battles. Buzz will be a great King George." Shawn patted his friend on the back. He gave Buzz a thumbs up. "You can totally do this. It'll be as easy as a winter's ball."

Buzz smiled. "Thanks, Shawn."

"Shawn, what does that even mean?" Gus groused.

"Don't worry, Mr. Guster," the director was quick to reassure him, "you may get to play a part yet; you are the understudy in case Mr. McNab can't make a show."

At that, Buzz nodded again. "And who knows with the way the force is sometimes. I might get called in last minute." Then his eyes lit up with an idea. "Hey, maybe you could come over to my place, and we could work on lines together," he offered, smiling. "Trust me; it's quiet uptown. It's the perfect place to rehearse lines!"

Gus raised an eyebrow. "I've been a fan of this show since it opened. I know all the lyrics by heart already. Come on, son!"

"Well, looks like with Schuyler defeated now, we can get back to Gus freaking out over the upcoming play," Shawn smirked.

"I don't 'freak out,' Shawn," Gus defended himself.

"Then what do you call what you've been doing since you heard about the play coming to town?" Shawn shot back. "Rabid fanboying?"

Gus just made a face at him.

"I'm pretty sure it's called 'freaking out,'" Shawn continued confidently. He smirked. "And if you don't know, now you know."

* * *

 _Fin._


End file.
